A Bird's Journey
by Micah Debrink
Summary: Behind the gameplay screen of Angry Birds, the glittering stars players are awarded with, what are the Angry Birds' lives really like? What journeys do they pursue? What hardships do they face? What is the cold, hard truth of battle, honor, and war? Rated T for violence and minor coarse language.
1. Chapter 1

(Disclaimer: All characters in this story belong to Rovio. However, my stories and viewpoints are my original ideas, and do not reflect the opinions of Rovio. Any other uncited reference or copy of another work is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.)

"Who was it?

It was one who did not soar, but whose power could lift any object of being into the heavens.

Where was it?

It was where the underworld bridged to the outside, the path lit by the scant light of a lamp.

When was it?

It was when the millions of eyes in the sky looked down, and great internal wisdom was found.

What was it?

It was what granted the wish of the eyes of the beholder.

How did the eyes?

The eyes held truth in their two orbs.

Why was it?

It was a second chance at life, from forlorn to among others, reawakened.

Who was it?

It was a figment of their imagination."

…and so ended Matilda's dictation of the poem on a content, almost cheerful note. But literary highs are only short-lived, and she soon fell into despondence. It had been more than four days since their triumphant defeat against the pigs, perhaps one of their greatest yet, but at a great cost. The price to pay: pierced by coarse, unforgiving glass shards, Jim's cuts fell victim to a gangrenous infection, which without surprise spread to Jake and Jay; their inseparability was a source of unity, almost functioning as a single organism, never referred as a plural object. Their always jovial personality, while foolish and immature at times, relieved the undeniable tension and stress of being angry for a living. But the flock never saw this positive character in them until they were gone.

"Life is too hard now. I can't handle my anger." Chuck admitted.

"I've taken to punching rocks…but that only worsens my concussion." Red grumbled, turning to Chuck.

The three blues, lying in a coma in a small alcove in the treeless plains of their home, were a saddening vision to see for the birds. The flock themselves were in pain as well, heavily gauzed and supported by crutches. Bomb's fuse was lost to a tourniquet, but it will heal and grow back eventually. But the wounds and trauma, seeing your own friends, the ones you were together with in all the times, would never fully heal through the years. They would accumulate, accumulate, and build up to a tragic event of desperation.

"Terrence. Come and see the Blues!"Terrence's brother, Red called out. Terrence was sitting in his usual afternoon spot, back turned to the sun, moving possibly less than a piece of rock. Red thought to himself. _My job, my life is slowly killing me, not just now, but all through these years. I don't want to become like Terrence, tired, old, and emotionless. But maybe we are all destined to become like Terrence, and it's only a question of when._ Red looked at his peers, now entertaining mild conversation. Angry birds' attention span is never really good.

The alcove the Blues sat in was painstakingly adorned by Matilda, who was definitely the most maternal of the flock. You could admit she was a control freak, but she had always cared for them, in times of happiness and times of despair, even when she herself was in agony. She was always selfless to them, spoilt them rotten, struggling to see a single misplaced feather on their precious bodies without absolute horror. But she served job adequate enough for the disparate adult males of the Flock, who treated parenting as a nuisance, with pride at that.

Hoping for their speedy recovery, Matilda always read to them daily, at such a precise time everyday that you could set your watch to it. The rest of the Flock thought she was crazy since the blues were comatose, but Matilda believed they could hear her. "Never turn back on your family," she would always say. Red thought about this. Why did he turn his back on Terrence? Did he really makes things right? Why didn't he makes things right-er? Those thoughts from antiquity rushed in like a leaking dam, only to flow away calmly into the stream moments later.

Matilda followed her daily vigils, replacing the old bouquet of flowers now withered and dry in the summer sun with fresh new ones. It was harder to find good flowers today. The enraged sun fiendishly protested against the grass, the birds' water supply, and their hope for better days. And he was winning.

"They're feverish! Give them some water," Matilda urged.

"Your turn." The rest of the flock all said in unison. The nearest stream that hadn't been dried out from the summer sun was more than a two hours' walk. Going by slingshot was out of the question: they were all too hurt, physically and mentally, to do that. Even the water in that stream was brackish, and probably ridden with disease. Matilda always worried about this, but conceded that "we must all make do". The blues were always given first priority for water, then Matilda, based on mutual agreement to a "ladies first" policy, and finally the rest of the flock…if there was any water left.

"Last time, admit it. You had more than your share of water and left everyone thirsty." Matilda scolded Chuck. Even though they were of the same generation, she was a maternal figure to all of the other birds, not that they minded...usually.

"Then why do you take a whole liter of water when we all are lucky to get a drop?" Chuck rebutted.

"It is hard in the hot sun!" Her grievances sounded like the petulant whines of a child.

"Everyone is exhausted!"Chuck raged on. "It doesn't mean you can be so self-serving and only caring about yourself."

Well, this made Matilda fume. The petulant child in her was set aside. "Oh, oh, is that the truth? Well you don't know what stress, I have been through, damn it!"She could be the most aggressive out the flock if you provoked her. Chuck eased back, preparing for the worst. Bomb nodded to him, implying that he has his back. Matilda ranted on, slowly enunciating every word. "I have to get up at three in the morning just to feed and give them water through an IV. I'm the one that stays with them all day, while you get to go about your merrily business. And do I get sleep? No! Tell me, have I missed out? Of course, I would never know, because I wasn't there!

"And oh, your little game of Monopoly you all played last night? What did you say, _yellow bird_? 'Someone has to take care of the blues, Matilda. You should go to them instead. Sorry.' Ha. What a great consolation. I guess it's just a nice way of saying 'Shoo, we don't want you, get out of our way, get out our life-', right? Don't I deserve some down time? Don't I deserve to be with the rest of you? Or have I been shunned by you?

"But you know how it feels…all too well…right? To be shunned?"

Chuck was silent. The light breeze was louder than the flock for a few moments.

Red broke the silence. "I think it is not Matilda wasting water, but these petty arguments that are. Your saliva is all probably dry now."

"He/she started it!"Chuck and Matilda said in unison.

"It doesn't matter," Red reasoned with them. "The heat of the summer gets us all temperamental, and all that matters is we need food and water to survive. The pigs are probably suffering from the drought too, so they won't be back for a while. If we can set these arguments aside, we'll all be fine. And I'll take care of the blues tonight."

Soon, the sun began to fall, and the flickering of a gentle campfire began to rise. Red sat with the blues, staring intently, examining every fine, tired feather on their bodies. But soon the night got to him, and Red dozed off unexpectedly. An ominous shadow soon approached, waking him up, albeit half-asleep.

"Hey, Terrence." Red mumbled.

"Go to sleep." Terrence boomed.

"Okay. Good night."And he did.

(To be continued...)


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

**Author's Note: I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter of my first fanfic. Here is the next chapter; reviews are appreciated!**

_In a matter of split second, anger seeps into every fiber of being, trembling in pressure, or perhaps fear of danger ahead. Just another slice of time gone by, and anger welled up inside manifests into physical action. The pigs wail in utter fear, and now the only purpose of anger is to suppress my impending doom. One last squawk and everything darkens. Then comes the feeling of nothingness, so profound, perhaps not even the most eloquent writer could detail in the common language. The gears of the brain somehow lock in place, and the gate to life as we know it opens. Eyes see a rugged wasteland or sawdust, rubble, and life. Despair sinks and drowns the mind. I move in closer. Is it really you? Is this object truly of cellular material? It is you. Of what circumstance made you in this state? The cuts and scrapes of impact we share, but the cuts and scrapes of sadness we do not. You are asleep, still in the world of darkness. The gears of your brain fail to spin into place. How I wish I was you now. The teeth of my brain's gears shred my heart to pieces. How can we survive with one of us three gone? Take me now. The pain is too much to bear._

Shattered awake, Jim for a moment didn't know who he was. Sweating in the all-too-warm summer night, on his left he saw Jake and Jay, all fast asleep. He had the dream again. His body hurt, though there was no pain to be felt. Lying in the lip of a cave, the soft grasses set for bed did little to relieve him.

"I heard a scream, what happened?" Matilda stormed in the cave, exclaiming just soft enough not to wake the other two blues.

Jim was still incoherent. He subconsciously trembled, and his head bandage was dripping profusely.

"Did you have that dream again?" Matilda approached to comfort Jim. Three months since they woke from a coma, the three blues had violent, recurring dreams of the event. Though it was the same dream every night, somehow it was painful and traumatic every single time. At first the three would refuse to go to sleep, but the sleep monster proved to be menacing and powerful, so they soon gave in to the need for rest. Words of kindness from the rest of the flock were always well appreciated, and leisure activities during the day prevented their wandering thought trains from derailing.

It was already six o'clock, so Jim settled on some breakfast. Hearty fare was stewing over the fire, beckoning the flock awake and to the campfire to see the sunrise. It was now nearing autumn, with the days getting shorter and the summer drought ceasing, leading to a more familiar verdant landscape, the grass struggling to make the most of the precious few warm days left.

By seven, all of the flock, including Terrence, gathered around the fire for a meal. Red, being the most senior of the group, proceeded with the daily announcements from abroad (In actual fact, Terrence was the most senior, but he was rather a recluse and didn't like this responsibility).

"Everyone, can I have your attention please." Eyes turned to the tree stump i.e. podium where Red now stood.

"First item of today: the weather forecast calls for warm weather today, with sunny skies. It will rather breezy from the west today too, which might affect our slingshot runs today.

"Also, there have been recent reports that the pigs have recovered from the drought, and they may be set on an invasion soon, possibly the first attack since June. However, they are probably still short on food, so this is unlikely."

He turned to the next page of his brief, skimming through the content. "And the blues will begin training practice today." He turned to face the blues, half-looking at his sheet. "Though I understand you all are still injured-physically and emotionally—from the attack last June, we need to be strong and prepare for what is to come. Wallowing in the face of trauma will only hurt you more come the next attack."

It was silent for a moment. The blues had flat expressions, but inside painful fear began to stab them. All these weeks, they hadn't thought of the premise of another attack. Only now they began to question how they were going to get through more tormenting, grueling training.

"Is everything alright?" Red reluctantly added, trying to comfort the blues while keeping his authoritative stance.

"Yes." Jake mumbled.

Red probably knew how much suffering the blues would experience, but he displayed obliviousness to the fact. "Meeting is over," he said dryly. "Good day, and may our eggs be safe." The flock scattered, commencing their daily activities.

(To be continued...)


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

(Disclaimer: See Chapter 1)

(Here is the 3rd chapter...the fourth one is coming very soon!)

The blues sat nervously as two figures loomed above them. Their shadows covered the warm and inviting sunlight and meadows. The blues were pieces of loot; the subject of an argument of custody but ignored, the plaintiff and defendant too self-absorbed in obstreperous argument. Matilda stood on the left. Red stood on the right. The blues were the judge, having seen long, mundane arguments over what was supposedly for their best safety but ended up being distant, querulous feuds that only made things worse.

"They must rest for the time being, Red." Matilda spoke calmly, rage leaking from her lips.

"I understand, Matilda, _but_—"

She interrupted Red in that same callous, genteel voice that froze skin on contact. "No, I do not think you understand. Just this morning they came to be afraid. From what, you ask? The _dream_, Red. The dream where they crash into a fort and die a painful horrifying death, do you understand, you will torture them by moving this harrowing nightmare into reality! No, I absolutely forbid it."

Well, that was it. Red hated how she always made Red to be the bad guy. The blues thought of him as meanie Red, communist Red, scary Red. "You have no authority over this matter, Matilda!" He shouted back, his militant mind slowly warming up. The blues huddled in fear of a scalding burn. He inched closer to her. "I have been appointed as leader of the Flock, and you will follow my orders, do you understand? Now I say they must be training for an inevitable conflict, and they must!" His case was supported by a swift blow to the mandible.

"What have you done to the Flock, you bastard?" The female plaintiff accused, her voice raspy from the dent in her beak. "Have heart, Red! They have just recovered from a major coma. They are sick. They are tired. They are battered. They are—"

"Matilda—"

"Goddamn it Red, let me finish!" The blues held their breath. They never heard Matilda, innocent Matilda, friendly Matilda, mother Matilda, make-you-eat-your-vegetables Matilda, strict Matilda, disciplinarian Matilda, ever curse before. Matilda must have thought the blues were deaf with infancy. Their ears began opening up: does the preacher enforce his doctrine on his most challenging disciple: himself? The preacher must correct their wrongdoing, for the minions have risen to the altar, just enough to pick the brain of their superior, to listen at their level.

It seemed a while before Red's trepidation and the blues' fazed eyes seemed to subside and they grabbed the courage to say something. Jake blurted, "I wanna play!", and Matilda turned to Red, his plumage flushed in humiliation, with a look like "I told you so". And so she escorted the blues out to leisure activities, her beak held high. Red stared at the ground as she left. But this would not last long, he was hopeful. The blues' minds would soon be freed from the clouds of infancy.

(To be continued...)


	4. Chapter 4

(Disclaimer: See Chapter 1)

(Well, here I am, and here is Chapter 4. Read and enjoy!)

"Focus on your landing." Chuck reiterated for perhaps the fifth time today, not that it mattered. The blues sat with rather glazed eyes, the sugar of the glaze too sweet to resist.

"Are you paying attention?" Chuck shouted bluntly. They snapped back to attention almost immediately. Jim listened to Chuck's instruction not with his mind but with his ears. Painful thoughts of the past and the future still plagued his mind and curved his line of focus. Soon he found his body navigating thorough tires, leaping and bounding across the obstacle course, struggling to finish. Jim's recurring dream played back in his mind, only this time he wasn't asleep. Chuck's voice straightened his mind.

It had been two weeks since the argument between Red and Matilda, and after a fortnight of recovery Matilda conceded the blues were ready to train, despite her personal disapproval. Children should never have to fight, she would protest most adamantly. They are not children anymore, Matilda, Red would respond. She then gave in and stepped back, her anger quivering precariously at the boiling point.

"Pay attention! Now what do you do when you see the pigs with the eggs?" He was now giving an extensive lecture on "Angry Birds strategy". The skills learned would soon be tested via a hundred-question short answer test. (Hey, Angry Birds have to go to school too.) The little capillaries on Chuck's body slowly bursting like little microscopic popcorn. Jake giggled briefly at his desk, worrying the other two blues.

"You dare laugh during a serious training session? Now you'll see the end!" Waving his long rattan "pointing stick" as usual, nothing actually happened. By now Chuck fell victim to his own hot-headedness, convulsing involuntarily, trashing himself across the grassland, his face not red but irate and incoherent for sure. This granted more laughter among the trainees.

"Look at him, so silly and full of himself. What entertainment." Jay whispered.

"I don't endure much for a rigorous training session." Jake replied. "Let's see if we can try something fun. Quick, get some TNT." Jim scurried off to get some. No matter how dire the blues' emotional state was, a day of mischief with friends was always fully appreciated.

Moments later, he returned with enough ammunition to move even Terrence from his resting spot by a 20-ton boulder in a small grotto. Unknown to Chuck, the blues set TNT across their teacher's sporadic but predictable path. Oblivious to the danger, each bomb Chuck smashed went up in torrential smoke, massive flames, and of course, an earth-shattering bang. The blues' toxic laughter fueled more danger for Chuck, the blues setting up more TNT and Chuck setting them off, until the sun dipped below the horizon. Covered in black dust, he continued on, until he gained the mental focus to compose himself. His enraged face and razor sharp beak quieted down the giggling guilty party, their laughter now nervous and breathy.

"You can laugh now, but you won't be anymore. Come here, let me teach you a real lesson."

They didn't laugh anymore.


	5. Chapter 5

(Here is the 5th chapter. Be warned: I go on a long, philosophical tangent in this chapter!)

"This deserves a serious reprimand on your part, Chuck." Red bounced across Terrence's nest. As the de facto president of the flock, Red was the one who dealt with all disciplinary issues that went on, and let's just say there weren't just a few. As Red would say, the worn, tattered feathers on his head became that way for a reason. Terrence, being the de jure president of the flock, watched over the parties called to attention: Chuck and the blues.

"Now do not get me wrong, the blues are not entirely faultless." Red continued. He turned to glance at the subject of his dialog. The blues were now paying attention out of fear of further abuse and physical harm. After Chuck's final punishment, they were heavily gauzed and saturated in antiseptic.

"But Chuck, inflicting corporal punishment on the blues is simply not acceptable," Red faced Chuck now. "You know they have suffered debilitating injuries. You know that this led to an infection that left in a coma for days. You know the responsibility with carrying the rattan cane. You better thank your lucky stars I heard their cries for mercy and stopped you from _beating_ them, and so savagely at that, to death. They would have been dead. Dead, you hear me?" Red's anger was no match for Chuck's, who winced in his mind.

"On the other side: you three." Red turned his attention to the blues. "In the first place, you also used TNT for illegal purposes. It was despicable of you to hurt Chuck that way, and not in self-defense, but out of malevolent intention." The blues pretended to know that word: now was not the time for childish curiosity. Red continued on. "You all should know better. I may be blunt in saying this, but it is time for you to grow up, take responsibility, have a mind of your own. You are at the point in your life where your immaturity is not funny. It can be dangerous, and can hurt someone you know.

"But I am not mad at you; I am mad at your immaturity, your wrongdoings. I know you can change, and Chuck's uncontrollable anger also played a part in his injury. You will return to class tomorrow, and I will teach you. You may go to your room now." The blues silently filed out of the cave, and vanished into the dark of the night. Chuck's face flickered in the lonely firelight, Red's back towards him.

"Now Chuck, I am sentencing you to banishment from the flock for one week. During that week, you will procure the supplies necessary to produce the TNT that has been lost."

There was a brief silence. Red softly turned to the guilty party, his despondent yellow face and all.

"Don't give that look, Chuck. Sometimes your anger can get the better of you." Red's speech flipped to a less authoritative tone. "There is a fine line between determination and anger. Make no mistake; we have all stuck our beaks past that line one time or another. I may be your peer in age, but I have entrusted to manage the Flock, and I must fulfill my duties."

"Don't leave me out in the cold, Red. These grasslands are unforgiving. Give me a chance."

"But have I not given you chances already? Numerous times this year, you have stepped out of line. I warned you not to let your anger harm the ones you care for. We are a team, and it is not your independent strength, but the strength of us together that makes us a powerful Flock."

"Terrence has gotten to your head, Red. What about those two times, when you confronted Bomb?"

"It's none of your business."

"You're jealous of Bomb because he's the most powerful one. The Blues admire him, but think of you as a miserable control freak. You have no special powers in the battlefield, while he always steals the show with his bomb fuse…"

"Get out, Chuck."

"…and that's why you gave him a piece of your mind. You took him to…"

"I said get out!"Red's fury echoed in the walls of the cave. "Like, get out of the Flock. You're banished, like I said. I shouldn't even be talking to you." He hushed his voice this time, so as not to wake the others.

Chuck left the cave. After a while, Terrence, who listened to the conversation the whole time, inched toward Red.

"Do you think I did the right thing?" Red asked. Terrence was always the wise one of the group.

"Your strictness will not lead you to happiness, Red."

"But isn't that what you want? Control?"

"No, you're forgetting the mission of the Flock. Our goal is to protect the eggs in our nest. That is what I have strived for. But ah, this body is too tired and too tormented to fulfill this duty."

"Will I turn out the way you are, Terrence? Old, frozen, unable to function from trauma?"

"Alas, no."

"What do you mean, 'Alas, no'? Is it not a bad thing?"

Terrence sighed. "You see Red, the reason why I became this way was I had no coping mechanism for this stressful life of firing yourself into a fortress, sacrificing your skin for the skin of your future children, growing inside the eggs.

"It is like being a soldier, fighting in the line of fire. It is not natural. When we are first born, we treasure all life. Our love knows no hierarchy. Our love does not stratify things. But as we get older, the need for power, supremacy, the need to justify yourself, to bestow honor upon yourself and your comrades, becomes more important than simply accepting and loving life.

"In the midst of battle, your determination to kill fills your mind. But after the battle, you must cope with the fact you have taken away a life, even if it was to save the life of another. You see Red, I had no coping mechanism. In order to be able to kill and be of sound mind, I had to go against the grain of my innate nature to treasure all life. Like the friction of coarse sandpaper to unprepared skin, this created the irrevocable scars that I wear today. I chose to kill, sacrificing my sanity.

"You built a coping mechanism so your natural instincts were blocked, and the manifestation of that is that you are a control freak. But merely coping only suppresses how nature wants you to behave. And so even if the sandpaper does not cut the toughened skin, it eventually does, backlashing on you in the form of anger, hate, and stress.

"When you are young, the strength to kill is weak. This is why the blues have a harder time coping with injury and stress. When I got older, I, who hadn't tried to cope with the stress, had it all come at me slowly and painfully in the form of trauma. But through this trauma, I finally was able to realize what I am telling you now."

"So are you telling me this because you want me to 'realize' this sooner?" Red asked.

"No, Red. It has to come to you. Eventually your coping mechanism will no longer be able to tolerate all the stress you subject upon it and it progresses from stress into trauma. Once you have killed, you must go through this process before you can be at least at peace with yourself again.

"But if I had a second chance, I wouldn't place my cards on it. The flow of my life is a part of me that I have learned to understand and love, and the misfortune I faced has awarded me wisdom which I speak from today."

Red took some time to process all these words. "Is this a warning of my fate?"

"No, just a friendly word of advice. Good night, Red."

"Good night, Terrence." Red left the cave, and everyone was asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

(Here I am, and here is the sixth chapter. Enjoy!)

Chapter 6

The three things he carried, the three weights on his shoulders, the three bits of home he would bring with him. The night was in its full darkness, his empty lair lit by a lone candle. Chuck could only carry three things—he was familiar with this rule—for he had to follow it many times. _How many times has it been? Twice this year? Three? Maybe five? _

But this was always a relapsing difficulty. He always let his exuberance, his spontaneity, lead him away from the flock. The speed that rocketed him past the others in the battlefield left him far ahead, alone, breaking the cobwebs on the wooded path. And he would be the one to slip through, at a carelessly fast pace, into the barb of a venomous spider; causing him trouble, causing his Flock trouble, because he didn't take the extra thought of moving just an inch. Just an inch more, and everything would have been right. Who can dare say the world is all random? He cursed at God.

He dawdled with his steps, his placement of the items, carefully in the canvas bag, hoping to extend his time at home just a little longer. _Should I bring this? Maybe I will take something else. This is too heavy._ But all this time he was filled with internal guilt; he was to be gone, and he dismissed the idea that his presence would be welcome. Every minute he strained the wing that reached to touch home just a little more, to touch the sweet clamors and smells and comforts that made him feel warm and fuzzy. But a cold wind pierced this dream, and the outstretched wing warped and tore from integrity. The open wilderness was where he belonged. The wing was no longer painful as he took his belongings and left in the night.

* * *

><p>After a longer than usual day of mundane chores, Matilda headed to blues' cave for a belated tuck-in. <em>Fast asleep already.<em> The only children of the Flock were always good sleepers, a welcome blessing for her and notably the unloving male birds of the Flock who didn't want to raise a child (or children, for that matter). _Oh, how they grow up so fast._ She watched as their bodies rose and fell in synchrony-the first, the second, the third-wondering if this moment would ever end, the blues would grow up, they would be strong, they would be brave, she would get old, she would be alone, her job would be done.

Then devilish thoughts burned through her contentment. She needed to save the children from being monsters. From growing to be the callous, heartless, blood-boiling, weapons of destruction that their milieu set them to be. She needed to avenge the monsters who trod their muddy footprints over the young ones' conscience. Bomb, the explosive bastard, he deserved more. As much as Bomb would suffer, she would never extinguish the devil's flame without smothering her burning heart, burning for the fourth, the fifth, the sixth, who watched over her as they picked her brain. _Why did you leave so soon? What have I done wrong?_ The forlorn mothers' anger would smother the devil's fire in Bomb's heart.

_Oh, forgive me, Jay, Jake, and Jim, if you have to see this. Go away. Be safe. You must learn to be strong and independent._

_(To be continued)_


	7. Chapter 7

(Hi, y'all! Hope you enjoy this next chapter.)

Chuck sat fireside, the starry sky forming the silhouette of a lone acacia tree. The crisp, yet wavering flames were blurred by tears in his eyes. He stared at the moon, and whispered to the heavens above.

"I have messed up again. My power is like a lightning bolt, powerful yet only striking at the most highest, most prominent point. I have gained much knowledge in this life, but what has it all been for? I am alone, first without wife, then without friends." He then realized: who was he speaking to? The crickets chirping their melodies in the dark? The nocturnal animals prowling through the night for food? Then he realized, and he bowed his head in reverence to his converser.

_One thing I have learned from these journeys,_ he thought, _is the tranquility of the night, free from the obstreperous clamor of me and my peers. I value the night: silent, yet watching with its millions of eyes, showing light only when one adjusts themselves to it. The night only observes, it listens to the cricket in the grass chirping a mating call, it watches as a monkey sips nectar off a juicy baobab flower. As empty as the night is, it is still respected and treasured, it has form and shape, and can be described in an infinite number of ways._ The fire extinguished itself as the time reached nearly midnight.

_The only reason why I have felt sadness in banishment was the longing to return to what I was supposed to be, one who drank blood and ate sawdust for victory, powered by a slingshot. But this escape has not deprived me of what I hear and see, but opened my eyes to what I didn't hear and see. Now I understand. Now I do not know, but I do understand._ He closed his eyes and went to sleep.

Shortly after drifting off, he was rudely awaked by a loud scream.

"Hey, Chuck!" The three blues belted in his face, the red bags underneath their eyes strangely reminiscent of a nightmare with three psychopathic clowns.

Chuck loud scream first stemmed from utter shock, then from utter fear (Imagine what a scary nightmare that would be!), then from utter anger. "In case you don't know, I'm _sleeping, _you little…you little…" The blues giggled.

_The peace of the night, Chuck, remember the night. _"Ahem." Chuck corrected himself. After a long pause, he began, "So, where are you three headed to? And so late at night?"

"We're off to see the Mighty Eagle!" The blues declared, appearing to be very jovial and peppy (and wide awake, considering the time of day).

Chuck couldn't help but scoff. "Hate to break it to you, kids, but this Mighty Eagle is just a sham." He remembered when he was a kid, and his parents told stories of the Mighty Eagle: able to kill off all the pigs, no matter the circumstances. As the story went, if you threw a can of sardines into the pigs' fort, the Eagle would charge, decimating their forces. But finding sardines is near impossible in the grasslands, and so this fable faded into legend. When he and Red were kids, he remembered trying to find the lair of the Mighty Eagle: according to legend, he was under the lip of a cave, marked by an eternally burning oil lamp, and would only appear at night. But the search was always in vain, so eventually their parents warned them not to venture at night for their own safety, and told them that the legend of the Mighty Eagle was "a way for the Pigs to kill gullible young Birds".

"But he is real! I'm sure of it!" Jake's affirmations resounded among his two brothers, who nodded in agreement.

"The story says if you find him, he will give you life-changing advice, or even grant you your wish!" Jake continued.

"But you always have to tell the truth, or he won't do anything. The Mighty Eagle knows if you're telling the truth or not." Jim added.

Chuck was getting tired of their childish fairy tales. The Flock should have never told them the legend of the Mighty Eagle; maybe when they were older. _But wait a second,_ Chuck thought. _No one in the Flock has told them that legend. I even asked Matilda if she ever told them that story; she said she'd never tell them something so harmful to them (many young birds have fallen into danger for pursing the truth of the legend). So how did they know all this? _Chuck asked them.

"Because he told us he was real." They said in unison.

"You've met the Mighty Eagle!?" Chuck was in disbelief.

"Not in real life, silly!" Jim laughed. "He appeared in our dream!"

Chuck's face sank. _Not another unprovable children's tale!_ Before he could rebuke the blues, Jay started talking.

"We're not bluffing! See, when we normally go to bed, we have that scary dream where we're all in…terrible pain…right?" Talking about it made all the blues cringe.

"But a few nights ago it was different. In our dream, we were just about to die a painful death when a big shadow loomed over us. Suddenly, all our painful scars healed, and all three of us were nursed back to life. Right, guys?" All three of the blues agreed to having the same dream.

"And this shadow dropped us off at the lip of a cave, and he told us he was the Mighty Eagle, and as long as we told the truth, he would give us advice and grant our wishes. And after that we never had the bad dream again."

Chuck was silent and pensive. He had just come to the realization of the beauty and the wisdom of the silence and the blank of the night. Wasn't the tale of Mighty Eagle the same thing? A legendary figure, not seen, not heard, but somehow known? He chose to trust in this philosophy, so it was only natural that he decided to come along with the blues to seek the Mighty Eagle.

"Let's go, blues. Let's seek the Mighty Eagle." And so they went.


	8. Chapter 8

(Enjoy this chapter!)

"The pigs are determined to strike us within the next few months," Red declared. "It is time that we strengthen our defenses, and be ready for attack. Thank you, and may our eggs be safe." His closing words prompted the Flock's return to daily activities.

Bomb's fuse had recovered for some time, and he was spirited enough to play with the blues, which he now did daily. But today, when he went to the young birds' resting spot, they were missing. Had they woken up? No, said the others. Their disappearance worried everyone, but also angered Matilda. She never trusted those rowdy male birds with children. The only cleaning they would do is clean lifting. They would get head trauma in training, and be so disoriented later in the day that the task of childcare inevitably fell on Matilda. "Matilda, go do this." "Matilda, go feed them this." Or "Ugh ugh ugh ugh guh gah", if they were concussed. What a barbaric sport; if you could call it one.

The most contemptible of all the birds was Bomb. Oh, how she detested Bomb. He had gotten the blues into all too much trouble at one time or another. More apologies to her only led to more troubles, and more frayed nerves and attempts at civility. Well, she was fed up. Bomb was a bad influence. He needed to be punished. Her maternal gaze turned into one of malevolence, perhaps a wasted, inefficient effort into trying to protect her children.

Shortly before daily training commenced, Matilda invited Bomb for a "friendly chat", as she called it. She invited him to a niche in a large boulder, at the frontier of the birds' territory. She had assembled a set of gardening equipment, which she would use normally for much less malicious purposes, such as in her flower garden. She hid this paraphernalia behind the rock, away from sight.

"Please, make yourself comfortable." She said dryly, perhaps a formality, or perhaps ambivalence towards what she was about to do.

There was a long pause, after which she chose to begin. "Let me make it simple. I want to make sure the Flock's children, Jay, Jake, and Jim, are safe. I'm sure you do too. Our entire existence depends on it. However, you have soiled their feathers far too much. You have not raised them properly. You have taught them nasty things. They have gotten hurt, because you don't teach them responsibility, and consequences. Every time they do something wrong, you don't punish them. So they want to hang around you all time, because they can just be like _you_, immature, irresponsible, and too powerful for your own good."

Bomb's broken ego bled with tears. "But you are the one who told us that we must all take care of the blues; three children was a blessing, but with a greater responsibility in its own right. You were the one who said that. You have entrusted the blues into my—no, our, for that matter—care, and I will raise them the way I want to! Besides, have I done anything that they would not do in adult life anyway?"

Immediately after, Matilda pulled out a pocketknife for picking roses. "Bomb, playing with explosives does not count!" She yelled sharply, slashing a bald spot in Bomb's feathers. "Now, you listen, bird, and you better listen well. Just because you have the most power of all of us, doesn't mean you raise the children the way you want. Red is the leader of the Flock. _I_ am the leader of caring the children, and you will do what _I_ say, understand?"

"Okay, okay, I—"

"_I'm not finished!_" She slashed another bald spot in Bomb. "You pissed me off, you have meddled in my affairs _too long_! So, retribution is in order." She pulled out a machete for clearing the massive weeds that would grow in her garden.

Blood, mixed with the saline of tears, stained the grass, struggling to stay green as the winter neared.

"Have mercy! Have mercy! You bastard! Why…are you doing this?" Bomb was now writhing in pain.

"I want you feel what our daughters felt. How they came to their demise!" Her speech was punctuated by cold, angry tears.

"I never meant to do them harm!" Bomb cried in desperation. "No, don't leave, Matilda. Don't go! Don't leave me to die!" The long, curved blade stuck out of Bomb's body, drinking his life away like a ravenous mosquito.

"Serves you right." She mumbled to herself. She picked up her gardening equipment and walked away.

(Hope you liked the action there. Stay tuned for more!)


	9. Chapter 9

(Thanks to everyone for their feedback and support! Without further ado, here is the next chapter!)

Chuck and blues had hiked for days in the open grassland, in search of the Mighty Eagle. Chuck carried dried carrion meat, which they subsisted on this odyssey. The blues, now weary in their bodies, subsisted on their indefatigable willpower and spirit, which gave them enough strength to lead the pack as Chuck trailed behind. It was nearing the rainy season, but the dry season struggled to stay for a couple more days, leading to no liquid respite from heat but a warm, muggy sauna that lasted into the night.

As they sat by the campfire on their eighth night in the wilderness, Chuck questioned what they were fighting for. Was the goal of finding this nocturnal "genie in a bottle" really that significant, considering the hardship they had to go through to reach it? Maybe that is moral of this journey. Those who suffer will be duly rewarded, and received by the travelers with much gratitude. Gratitude and appreciation, deprivation and hunger, is what he learned this eighth night in the savanna.

The yellow bird gazed up to the night's twinkling lights, and was joined by the blues. The triplets created funny shapes in the stars, tracing with their beaks.

"I see a cloud!" Jim noted. The other three birds agreed.

"Hey, I see a slingshot!" Jay pointed out. The other birds nodded.

"I see a cave!" Jake said. The group was silent.

"Where? Don't bluff us!" Jay teased.

"No, really, like really, there is a cave! Over there!" Jake beak pointed to a small alcove underneath a hanging roof of sandstone. A small orange star illuminated it.

"There it is…" Chuck gasped in reverence. The four birds hurriedly packed their camping gear, and carried their fire in a wooden branch nearby.

As they approached the ever-increasing light, the blues pulled out a small can of pickled sardines to offer the Eagle. They had plundered it from the stores of the pigs when the birds invaded two years ago; the pigs hated sardines (they like eggs, of course), so they took no objection to this. "Take it, take it," they said willingly.

The first reaction as they entered was one of awe, then of despondence. The cave shined of gold and treasures, reflecting the light and making it almost impossible to see. But much to their grief, the Eagle was not there. Chuck didn't see him. The blues' didn't see him. As their eyes had adjusted to the bright of the cave, the expansive night had turned to black. Chuck knew he was there. He bellowed into the cave.

"Where are you, Mighty Eagle?" The echo was muffled by the many gold coins.

After a long pause, they heard a booming voice. "How did you know?" The sound was enough to rumble the entire cave to collapse, but the weak sandstone somehow stayed supported.

"Answer me!" The ground shook once more. The blues saw two of everything; twice as much gold.

This time a few pieces of sandstone mixed with gold in cave. Chuck trembled in fear, lowering his eyes and trembling ever so slightly. But it was a different kind of fear. It was a fear that empowered him, as if he was raised up to the divine as he lowered his eyes. He felt an understanding, not just knowledge. It was something that he had just pieced together in his mind since he was in his banishment. He stood head high, and responded.

"Because I have come to understand what is not seen, heard with the senses, is far greater than what one sees, hears with the senses. I have come to understand the power in hunger, the reward in suffering, and the material of emptiness. It is because of this that has led me to here…" His voice faded as he felt a long moment of silence in the cave.

"Congratulations, bird." This time the walls did not shake. A large figure approached them out of hiding, into the main cave. His face was jovial, yet wise, as could be seen from the worn blunt tip of his sharp beak.

"Whoa!" The blues whispered in unison. For a moment they did not speak or free themselves from the Eagle's gaze, for his prominence captivated their minds.

For Chuck, it was a different feeling, a more complex one. Though he definitely felt a sense of triumph, he also came to realize what may have been rudimentary yet forgotten, childish and simple: his actions directly make an outcome; every event can be traced to an action. His careless actions that led to his banishment were cause and effect respectively. But once he did not just "know" this, but "understood" it, he felt control over his life, like never before. He understood that other people did not matter; only he could make the decision, only he can control his own life.

The blues offered the Eagle canned sardines, which he gladly accepted, swallowing the contents of the can in one easy gulp. "So, what can I do for you?" He presented casually.

"I want a super slingshot that can fire four bejillion miles!" Jake said, still in awe.

"Can you make a super-duper laser blasting thingy for our eggs so when the pigs come it'll go pew pew pew pew!" Jay asked in one gasp of air, pantomiming with his body. His saliva sputtered in front of him.

"Now, now, boys," the Eagle calmed them down. "I chose to come into your dream because I know you want to have all these things. Now, boys, there is one thing I want you to know. You don't have to 'deserve' something or 'be the righteous owner' of something to get it. All you have to do is want it and wish for it. I don't reward those who choose to suffer in vain, for they do not receive award with genuine gratitude; they are too selfless, they do not respect themselves. I also refuse to grant wishes to those who are greedy, and believe they can get anything, even if they do not appreciate and love themselves. I chose to save you from your nightmare because you did not let that adversity get in your path, you did all the things you would do, as if you were fully recovered: you went to school, you played in the day—"

"You were there?" Jim interjected.

"Yes I was. I watch over all of you. But if you try to find me, I will disappear; unless you come here. As I was saying, boys, you acted like you were the way you wanted to be, even though you were in a less fortunate state. Therefore, I decided to save you from your nightmare, and guide you to my lair."

Chuck processed all this knowledge in his head. _I can be who I want to be,_ Chuck thought. _I don't need to be in a flock. From what I learned, I can be on my own and thrive, with the wisdom I have gained. I know what I am going to ask the Mighty Eagle for._ "Mighty Eagle?"

"Yes, bird?" The Eagle turned to face the yellow bird.

"I wish to be liberated from the Flock forever." Six eyebrows came up. "Please escort the blues safely back to the nest in whatever way you see fit."

"So granted." The Eagle proclaimed without hesitation.

"If you do not mind me asking, Mighty Eagle," Chuck said, "Do you believe this is the best course of action for me?"

A brief silence followed. "As the Mighty Eagle, I do not judge. You are in control of your life, so I do not know if it the best choice for you. Only you know that. So I cannot answer that."

He turned to face all four of them. "Remember, since you have unlocked the location of this lair, you can return here anytime. Feel free to tell other birds about your time here, for they will never come here, they are unwilling; only the willing will find me here. I bid you farewell."

"Goodbye!" The blues said in unison. Chuck looked at his friends for one last time, and left the cave before they did.

(To be continued...)


	10. Chapter 10

_(Disclaimer: See Chapter 1)_

_(Well, here it is! The long awaited addition to the story! Keep feedback and support coming!)_

_"They would suffer if you don't, Bomb."_

_"No, please, have mercy."_

_"I am ending their suffering Bomb—"_

_"You're torturing them, Terrence!"_

_"Too many females have died, Bomb, and in case you haven't noticed, not exactly in the most painless way. They've been violated by the pigs, Bomb. Tortured, you understand? Treated as something less than living." _

_"What?"_

_"I know this is hard to hear, Bomb, I had second-thoughts about telling you this. But my wife was captured by the pigs. So have the others' wives. You are lucky, Bomb. Matilda is safe and you both have three beautiful daughters. All the females except Matilda are dead."_

_"Then, I don't understand you, Terrence. This mercy killing has no logic. Wouldn't it be better if me and Matilda raised my daughters, so we would have more females? Why kill them? Why?"_

_"Let me enlighten you, Bomb. The pigs are closing in on our nest. We must flee this valley and head to the hills if we are to be safe. We cannot carry three young chicks with us; if we are to get hit by the pigs, they get hurt too, understand? If we bring them along, for the pigs it's just three vulnerable bodies to kill, we'll be sitting targets! Would you let your daughters suffer? Hmm?_

_"Look, Bomb, I understand this is difficult for you. Let me give you some time to think. I'll leave you for a while." _

_"Yeah, you can leave, Terrence, but I've made a decision. Don't end my babies' suffering. If there's anyone that should do it, it should be me."_

_"I understand, Bomb. I'll leave now. Take all the time you need, and when you're ready, we can leave."_

_"Oh, my babies. This is for the best, understand? You will be in a better place. _

_"I'm sorry, kids._

_"Here goes—"_

_"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?"_

_"Matilda, I'm begging you, leave, now!"_

_"What are you doing to the children! NO! NO! NO! STOP!...ugh. My babies…"_

_"Don't cry, Matilda. They are safe now. They're in a better place-"_

_"And you have the gall to say that! Are you CRAZY!? Let go of me! You scum!_

_"I loved you, Bomb. I thought you loved me. I guess that's not the case. This is unforgivable! I would die for my children, die, you understand, rather than the other way round. I couldn't live with myself. So it's your fault, and your burden. You have to live with that yourself, forever, because I'm not living with you and your merciless self."_

_"No, Matilda, you have to understand, it wasn't—"_

_"Oh, I think I understand enough."_

_"Don't go, Matilda. Don't go! Don't go…don't go…don't go…"_

* * *

><p>"…don't go…don't go…hmm?" Bomb woke from his comatose state shaken. If only Matilda understood, one side of his mind said. If I could only do it all over again, the other side said. After the war and the mercy killing, the previous couple chose to remain on civil terms. But old wounds die hard, and they smart until the pain becomes too much to bear; and one must take out their pain on someone; like the person they hate the most. Bomb looked at himself, in self-reflection.<p>

He did not see the pool of blood and tears that resulted from his most recent altercation with Matilda anymore. Instead he saw bandages, hundreds of used antiseptic bottles, and an IV with fluids poked into his body. This was the Flock's medical center, the same place where they treated the blues' infection.

Red sat in a corner, anxious to hear the victim's account of what happened. He was a bit reluctant, though. Bomb being so battered up; that was a first. Normally in the battlefield he would just self-immolate, and rematerialize unscathed, save a little baby injury on his fuse. As he and his comrades groaned over their injuries, Bomb gloated about his lack thereof. Red almost felt he deserved it. _Now he knew what the rest of us feel after battle, injured, in pain. Serves him right._ He scoffed under his breath.

Everyone saw tiredness, regret, and a frozen cold mind in Red. He wondered if what he had done was right. _Why did I do such a callous action, knowing Chuck would die—in the cold—away from all of us? No, he deserved it. He caused too much harm to be stretched with tolerance; mine has already snapped broken. _Instead of yellow, however, the abridged search led them to discover black and red, the former stained by the latter: it was Bomb.

As Red juggled through these thoughts, Bomb began to speak. Red's eyes lit up, mostly by natural reflex.

"Where…am…I?" The patient struggled to say.

"Thank your lucky stars (all 800 of them) that you're alive." Red began. "The blues found you on the grass, by a niche in the rock. You were bleeding, but alive (unfortunately). Naturally, I brought you back here. Now, tell me what happened."

Bomb produced the events that led to his current state. When he finished, Red was wide eyed.

"Matilda? Such a non-violent and peaceful person did this to you?"

"You don't understand, Red. She sought revenge for something I had done to her."

"The time you decided to stab to death her children, you mean?" He responded coldly in lieu of anger, scrawling at his paper as he spoke.

"Yes, Red, but you don't understand—"

"That situation is over, Red. If we pollute our minds with the oil of this, it will spill and contaminate the water. Let us not talk about it. You served your penance; two years of banishment." He wished he had banished Bomb for a longer, but for some reason his brother Terrence pushed for a shorter sentence, much to Red's surprise.

Before Bomb could interject, Red ended the conversation there, leaving the patient to rest.


	11. Chapter 11

(Discliamer: See Chapter 1)

Chapter 11

"Show us again, Uncle Bomb!" Jay pleaded.

"Oh, it's getting late—"

"Please!" The three said in unison. It was the late afternoon, and after a painful day of training a rapid-acting, opioid reliever was watching Bomb and his earth-shaking explosives, snickering with evil eyes. The entertainer had long recovered from his injuries, recovering just as warmth across the valley did with the onset of spring.

A few days ago, when the blues returned from their not-so-fruitless journey to find the Mighty Eagle, both the blues and Matilda (and the rest of the flock, for that matter) never heard the end of it from each other. The blues always had a subject at dinner, which almost made their mother's macerated vegetable soup seem appetizing. At first, Red had no concern when they regretfully divulged Chuck had gone missing (Red had told them "His name to be mentioned or heard within earshot. Understood?"). At first a search party would be organized, but Red called it off midway. "He is banished, and he must find his own way, if he ever does."

"Oh all right, just one more time," Bomb conceded his authority. He placed a small rodent on the worn patch in the field that was the stage for the show. The entertainment catapulted off, bursting in flames, flailing its arms in vain, only to fall to the ground and transfer its life to the dead grass on the explosion site, with the help of rain that would hopefully come. The blues burst in maniacal laughter, joined by Bomb's sonorous, hearty chuckle that was freed from him after he conceded his authority.

Matilda, just finishing dinner, watched the blues and Bomb with perturbed eyes. What would my three angels become? She lamented to herself. He is making them into monsters. Bomb, if he doesn't kill our children, he turns them into monstrous killers. Painful memories were rudely awakened. A loud bang and the sadistic cackle of children punctuated her thought, and she slipped back into the cave, where she would be safe.

Red stood hidden in a rock watching this spectacle. What contemptible acts, he lamented to himself. Bomb was such a wasteful, privileged one. Why did he get to use all the TNT? Because he was Bomb, and he "needed" it. Why does he need it? He blows up, so he's in charge of every damn thing that blows up; but if that were true, he would be the leader of the Flock, all the hot-blooded, blood-vessel-rupturing birds of the Flock. Why must he be so wasteful, and only for pleasure and work? Work is the only thing that makes the world go; the cogs of the world turn in perfect isochronal rhythm. Without work there would be no play. If there is play, there would have to be work. He withdrew from the bushes and returned to his cave.

Dinner was quieter than usual, but not naturally so. It was a strange, revolting cocktail of bizarre grasses and carrion foraged from nearby; Matilda would not be a Michelin-starred chef anytime soon. Everyone was holding back something, looking around at their neighbors, they wanted to say something, but they were hesitant, what would the Flock think, would this bird get mad, would something terrible happen, not in front of the children—finally Red spoke.

"I see you are using explosives for you entertainment, Bomb." He tried to start off neutral, icy cold like the early spring night.

"Oh, yes, the children love it. Don't y'all?" Bomb turned to face the blues, who responded agreeably to his hearty chuckle.

Red tried to maintain civility. That sly smile Bomb wore was so evil, evil enough to turn against his own kind. Or at least that was the excuse he used in his defense after he proceed to dump dinner over Bomb. It was not the repulsive meal that led to the victim writhing in pain on the floor, but the temperature it was heated to make it barely palatable. The blues huddled in fear and scurried back to their cave. Matilda said nothing; she sat there, motionless, inching a little to avoid being splashed with the scalding weapon that Red wielded carelessly. Her eyes stared blankly as the victim writhing on the ground. She let a smirk show on her beak.

"Who's helpless now, Bomb?" Red shouted at him. That was rhetorical.

"Goddamn it, Red, what do you want from me?" The gruel on him began to cool, and he finally had the composure to speak.

"I do not know, Bomb. You have stolen too much from me—no, us—you steal the show every time in battle. Your fuse is a sorry excuse for a living thing. You are a weapon, you hear? Nothing but a dirty, soil-covered weapon! Eat the dirt, where you belong." He forced a beakful down Bomb's throat, causing him to gag violently.

"If you're jealous of me—"

"No, that's not it, it's just…it's just…well." As Terrence, who hid in the bushes during dinner, saw Red head back to his cave, leaving Bomb behind, he too went back to his cave, locking up this event deep in his engorged mind.

(Well, it's been a while! I hope for your continued support as I continue my fanfics!)


End file.
